


Write the Whamilton fluff you want to see in the world

by trobairitz22



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Feminization, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, QPQVerse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7228627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trobairitz22/pseuds/trobairitz22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short scenes from rillrill's Quid Pro Quo universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Envelope

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Iniquiticity for beta-ing this and reminding me to actually post the damn things.  
> Come hang out with me on Twitter @LouNoDear!

Envelope

Alex sincerely hopes the clench of his stomach isn’t visible on his face as Washington approaches his desk in the bullring. He hands him an A4 envelope.

“Alexander. These are some drafted press reports, I’d appreciate it if you could get back to me with your comments before the end of the day.”

“Of course, sir,” Alex says, and nods as Washington smiles and strides off. Alex tries hard not to think with dread about everything else he’s supposed to finish today.

He upends the envelope, letting the contents slide out onto his desk. Then he leans back and rubs his eyes hard, until he sees floating lights in the corners of his vision. Christ, the “favours” Washington gives him certainly don’t include a lighter workload.

He opens his eyes again, and when his vision clears he jumps in horror. Lying on top of the stack of papers is a pair of dark pink silk panties. He snatches them up and stuffs them into his pocket, heart pounding. He stares around the office. Did anyone see? How long were they on the desk for, lying in plain sight? Ten seconds? Fifteen? Would it have been obvious what they were? Could he say it was a handkerchief Washington misplaced somehow? Nobody is looking at him oddly. Nobody is looking at him at all, in fact. He takes a deep breath, pushes the panties deeper into his pocket and walks to the bathrooms as casually as he can.

He locks himself in a cubicle. What the hell is Washington doing? Alex lets waves of panic, then relief, wash over him. Why is Washington playing with fire like this? He tries to work himself up to anger, or at least irritation. It’s difficult when he thinks about what’s in his pocket. He lets himself imagine Washington sitting in his office thinking about Alex wearing them, wonders if Washington was so desperate to get them to him that he couldn’t wait till after work…He pulls the panties out of his pocket. They’re crumpled but beautiful. Raspberry-coloured silk, edged with soft cream lace. The label bears the name of some Italian-sounding brand Alex hasn’t heard of. Expensive, without a doubt. He runs his finger over the join of the silk and the lace. So soft.

He listens. He’s sure there’s nobody else in the bathroom. Quickly, he removes his shoes, then trousers, then boxers, and pulls the panties on. Carefully. The lace is delicate. He takes a second to appreciate how well they fit before he hurriedly put his trousers and shoes back on. Tucks his shirt in, stuffs his previous underwear into his pocket. Flushes the toilet for good measure and walks out. Two can play at this game.

-

At the end of the catch-up meeting at noon that day, Alex shifts forward in his seat, feeling the beautiful raspberry silk move against his skin.

“Oh, by the way, sir, thank-you very much for sending me that envelope of press report drafts this morning. I found the contents very interesting. I got right into them straight away.”

Washington’s head snaps up as the others gather their things together.

“Oh really?” he asks, voice just very slightly hoarse. “Well, I’m pleased to hear that.” He looks back down at his own papers, hurriedly shakes them into a pile.

“I think this style suits me particularly well,” Alex continues with a blithe smile. Washington swallows hard. “Yes, I definitely think speechwriting fits my skillset better than blogging,” Alex concludes. “Perhaps if you have a few minutes spare later today you could look over the work I’ve done on them?”

“Absolutely,” Washington says, a little too enthusiastically perhaps, but everyone else is leaving the table and not particularly listening. “In fact, I’m about to take lunch, so I could look over them quickly now.”

“Oh, do you want to come right now, sir?” Alex asks, letting his expression become more and more wicked as the others file out of the room. “I’m sure I’d only need fifteen minutes of your time.”

Thirteen and a half minutes later Alex comes hard in Washington’s mouth, sitting on Washington’s desk in the hideaway with his legs spread, with Washington kneeling in front of him and the panties dangling around his ankle.


	2. Elastic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me on Twitter @LouNoDear! I'm almost always there. Like, seriously. Constantly.

Elastic

Alexander is many things – brilliant, bold, infuriating, fascinating. But George doubts that any of their colleagues would ever describe him as sweet. But then, they don’t get to see Alexander at seven-thirty in the morning. Only George has that privilege.

They’ve got into a routine over the last few months: they stay over at George’s city apartment if they leave work together, which they usually do. George wakes up at seven, goes for a twenty-minute run, leaving Alexander in bed but with the bedside lamp turned on, in an attempt to wake him up gently. George is a morning person due to sheer force of will, but Alexander really, really is not.

George stands panting in the bedroom doorway. He can make him out in the dim light from the lamp; Alexander is nestled on his side, duvet pulled right up to his chin. Both hands are curled around the duvet’s edge, right in front of his face, as it he’s worried someone might try to take it away. Those long lashes stroke his cheekbones. His hair is tied up on top of his head; he has taken to going to bed with it in a bun ever since George discovered that spooning someone with long hair means it inevitably ends up in your nose and mouth. But by now strands of it are poking out of the elastic band like a crazy series of aerials. His brows are furrowed and he’s wearing the slightest of pouts. George knows that look; it’s half-conscious Alexander unhappy about the imminent obligation to get up.

“Good morning, princess,” George calls from the doorway.

Alexander’s eyelids twitch. “Mnf. Daddy?” he croaks.

George cracks a smile and walks over to the bed. He doesn’t want to lie down on it when he’s sweaty but he stoops to pull the elastic band gently out of his boy’s hair. He fans it out on the pillow, runs his fingers through it.

Alexander makes a slightly happier noise and slits his eyes open.

“Coffee?” he asks hopefully.

“Shower, then coffee,” George compromises.

He groans and rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillows, but George thinks he hears a muffled, “okay”. He pads into the kitchen and puts the kettle on, and by the time he’s back Alexander is sitting up and his eyes are mostly open, at least, although he doesn’t look happy about it.

(George decided to start worrying about his boy’s caffeine dependency a couple of weeks ago, and is slowly trying to wean him off it, mainly by making him do things other than make coffee before his first coffee of the day.)

Alexander clambers out of bed and George pulls him close, spins him round to press his back against his own chest. Buries his nose into his loose hair and inhales its scent, then presses a kiss to the back of his neck. Alexander leans back against him and George senses that he’s closed his eyes and is trying, against all odds, to doze off again, even while on his feet. He pokes him ruthlessly in the stomach.

“Shower,” he insists, and pulls him to the bathroom. Alexander sighs, but acquiesces.

They’ve got into a routine. It’s working for them.


End file.
